Ten OneShots
by Raisinous Fiendling
Summary: When completed, this shall be ten oneshots with a general Gryffindor theme. Right now, there's 5. Written for the hpfanfic10x10 livejournal community.
1. Do you believe in God, Hermione?

**Title:** "Do you believe in God, Hermione?"  
**Rating:** PG-13 for some language and dark imagery.  
**Pairings:** mention of Remus/Tonks  
**Summary:** Harry needs Hermione's ear, written for the lj community **hpfanfic10x10**  
**Warnings:** side characters' death, angst  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing you recognize.  
**RF's note:** All comments appreciated!

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"Do you believe in God, Hermione?"

The bushy-haired girl blinked in confusion as she stood in the doorway of the girls' dormitory. "Harry… what's going on?" she asked in a worried tone, drawing her robe tighter about herself. "It must be three in the morning."

Harry looked down, fidgeting, and said nothing. His glasses were askew on his face, his hair messier than ever; he struggled to keep a wand pointed at his own feet, holding himself up with a levitating charm lest the dormitory stairs attack him.

Hermione frowned, setting a hand on her hip and employing her trademark bossy tone. "It's the middle of the night, and obviously something was important enough for you to charm yourself to be able to make it up the stairs and ask philosophical questions. What is going on?"

Finally, the boy looked up. "Do you believe in God, Hermione?" he repeated at a whisper, and a single tear trickled down his cheek.

Stunned by the desperation in Harry's eyes, the girl followed him into the common room.

"I talk to Him every day," Harry stated once Hermione took her usual place on the couch. She could tell that the boy was agitated. He paced, and she could see a hint of madness in his stride.

"Every day," repeated Harry, with a pleading note in his voice, "every day I talk to Him and beg for Him to tell me how to fulfill my destiny."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Harry cut her off. "He talks back sometimes," he laughed humorlessly.

"At least, I imagine Him talking back." Harry rolled his eyes at himself. "The bastard sounds way too much like _fucking _Dumbledore, saying all the wrong things."

The witch's mouth snapped shut. She stared at her friend, seeing all the signs of hysterical madness in him. She whimpered.

"You're all I have, Hermione," continued Harry. "You and Ron, Ginny and Remus − you're all that's left for me, and every day I beg God to keep you safe, and every morning after a night of terrible visions, I thank Him for not failing me. I thank God," the boy smiled bitterly, "that someone else's life was taken, not one of me or mine."

A suddenly terrified shiver ran down Hermione's spine.

Harry turned desperate eyes on his friend. "Every night," he yelled, "in the silence of my bed, I plead with Him, asking if it was my fault that my parents died… asking if I could have saved Cedric and Sirius from their deaths. Was it some grand design? Was it God's _fucking _design to rob me of everyone I love! And if it was, then why, _why _do I deserve such a fate? What have I done to have this done to me!"

Then, in a single moment, all fire seemed to go out of him, and he collapsed on the floor before Hermione's seat.

"I saw Remus and Tonks get killed tonight," Harry whispered, and Hermione stifled a pained gasp.

Tears streamed suddenly from the boy's clouded emerald eyes. "They were making love," he cried. "They were making love when the bastard of a snake appeared."

Harry's body was shaking with sobs. "He tortured her and made him watch," he spat out, "and then he killed them both."

Tears crawled unbidden down Hermione's face. "Maybe it was just a dream," she whispered, knowing she could not dare hope.

"No." Harry shook his head. "I felt their pain. I was in the git's head. It was a vision. It was real. So I have to know…" his eyes were terrible – wide and haunted, with a touch of pained hysteria – as they burrowed into Hermione's, "…do you believe in God, Hermione? You are the smartest witch I know; tell me, _tell me _if God exists. Tell me why He failed to hear my prayer." The boy's voice broke. "Tell me why He let them die," he pleaded at a whisper. "And most of all, tell me, _lie _to me, and tell me that they've moved on to a better place…"

The boy's eyes went lifeless. Collapsing, Harry laid his head in his best friend's lap, and wept.


	2. Turlututu Chapeau Pointu

**Title:** Turlututu Chapeau Pointu  
**General Theme:** Gryffindors  
**Prompt:** Wicked  
**Rating:** PG  
**Summary:** The Gryffindor common room door gets a new portrait. Chaos and humour ensue! Written for my Gryffindor table at the **hpfanfic10x10** LJ community  
**Warnings:** one of the pairings is slash, but it's really minor  
**Pairings:** Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Seamus/Blaise  
**Word count:** 2670  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing you recognize.  
**RF's note:** All comments appreciated!

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"I can't believe we're in our last year at Hogwarts!" exclaimed Ron Weasley as he and his two closest friends, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter, left the Great Hall, heading towards the Gryffindor dormitories.

"Yeah," yawned Harry, patting his tummy, "that was quite the start-of-term feast, wasn't it? The house-elves really outdid themselves this time."

Hermione frowned. "Honestly, slave labor!" she muttered. "I can't believe the little beasts actually enjoy it."

Ron laughed. "Ah, let it go, 'Mione," he exclaimed, placing a hefty slap on the girl's back, which nearly sent her flying forwards.

"Ron! I am not a male buddy of yours whom you can just slap around! You've got Harry for that!" seethed Hermione, turning an unattractive shade of red.

"What?" Ron waved his hand dismissively. "You're my friend, like him. You're no different."

Ooh. The expression on the girl's face went from angry to murderous. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or blanch. "Ron, you dunce," he mumbled, slapping his forehead. "Ah, the feud continues… Just get together already."

"_What _was that?" Hermione turned on the bespectacled boy.

"Erm… nothing," stuttered Harry, cursing his idiotic habit of talking to himself. "I didn't say anything."

The bushy-haired girl shot him a glare. Behind her back, Ron made a face and snickered silently. After knowing the boy for six years, however, Hermione knew exactly when to turn and catch him in the act. "Men!" she growled, and stalked ahead of her friends.

Ron shrugged. "I don't know what her problem is," he whined childishly.

Harry sighed. "Idiot," he muttered.

"What was that, mate?" Ron looked at him suspiciously.

"Er… just a burp." Harry affected an abashed air about himself and quickly fished for a new topic of conversation. "What's all that commotion ahead?" He frowned, seeing a group of Gryffindors crowded around the common room entrance.

"Oi, what's going on?" called out Ron.

"We've got a new portrait," said Hermione in a huffy tone. "Let's get closer."

Harry winced as a path straight to the front of the gathering was cleared for him. As he walked through the crowd of kids, he could see newly sorted first-years point rudely at him and his scar. He growled to himself. "I hate being the world's screwed-up notion of a celebrity."

Ron shot him a look. "At least it's useful."

With a heavy sigh, Harry beheld the new portrait. He blinked. Greenish face… crooked nose… a hideous mole on the woman's chin… Harry's eyes darted down; sure enough, a pair of ghastly striped stockings covered the witch's ankles.

"The wicked witch of the east!" exclaimed Harry and Hermione together.

"I thought the Wizard of Oz was a Muggle thing!" put in Dean.

The witch in the portrait made a face. "A stupid Muggle painted me," she croaked tartly. "Then his even more idiotic wizard friend decided to surprise the git and animate me. Gods, I curse that day."

Harry blinked, taken aback by her bitter tone. "Er, I'm sorry to hear that," he offered. "Dancing hippogriffs."

"What's that, boy?" snapped the witch. "Kids these days!" she scolded. "You didn't even ask what to call me!"

"We're sorry," whimpered Neville, looking decidedly uncomfortable in the presence of the grumpy witch. "What should we call you, Miss?"

The ugly woman drew herself up to full height. "You will call me Mrs. Wicked," she instructed pompously.

"Okay," giggled Ginny, coming up to Harry's side and slipping an arm around his waist. Harry smiled warmly at his girlfriend. "Now can we get in, please? Dancing hippogriffs."

"What is that nonsense, girl?" grumbled the witch, looking decidedly angered.

"It's our password," explained the redhead. "Dancing hippogriffs."

"What a ridiculous notion!" Mrs. Wicked shook her greenish-looking head and Harry watched the sagging skin of her cheeks bounce and sway disgustingly. "No, my dears, your new password is _Turlututu chapeau pointu_," said the woman in an impeccable French accent. "Be sure to pronounce it well."

Ron's eyes bulged. "Er…turtle…what?"

"Turlututu, you idiot," hissed Hermione. "It's the French abracadabra."

Ron blinked. "Um… right. You'll write it down for us, won't you, Hermione?" It was more of a statement than a question.

Letting out a frustrated growl, the bushy-haired girl ground out the password and strolled through the door.

"I think she's pre-menstrual," whispered Ginny in Harry's ear. Harry laughed. Picking up the slight redhead and kissing her gently, he carried her inside the room.

----------------------------------------

"Harry! Harry, wake up!"

Emerald eyes blinked open blurrily as Harry slowly came to. Ginny pushed his glasses onto his nose helpfully. "Wake up, Harry," she said again, bouncing up and down on his bed. "The old cow won't let me out!"

"Wwhat?" slurred Harry, trying to get his tongue to obey his brain. "Who? McmnmGonagall?" He sat up, shaking off the deep sleep he'd been in. "Gods, Ginny, what time is it?"

"It's three in the morning," said the redhead impatiently. "Seamus let me in. You have to help me!"

"I'm confused," sighed Harry. "Where do you need to go?"

"The kitchen, of course!" hissed the girl. "You know I get terrible food cravings during torture week."

"Oh… yeah, I do know." Harry shuddered as the memory of seeing his girlfriend glomp down peanut butter and pickles invaded his mind. "We'd better sneak down to see the house-elves then." He prayed that this time he wouldn't have to prepare a mixture of ice cream and boiled carrots for his darling better half.

"Well, that's the problem I'm telling you about!" Ginny squirmed with a frustrated growl. "Mrs. Wicked won't let me out!"

---

Harry stood in the middle of the common room and stared at the door leading outside. "Ginny," he croaked, "remind me… was there a portrait of Mrs. Wicked here when we went to bed this evening?"

"No," sighed the girl. "There's never been a portrait here, only on the outside of the door."

Mrs. Wicked fixed her hair self-importantly. "Ah, yes, well," she smiled, showing her crooked teeth, "dear Argus installed me here just minutes ago. Such a pleasant man he is."

"Filch," groaned Harry. "I should've known." With a deep sigh, he fished a tattered piece of paper out of his pocket and peered down on it thoughtfully.

"God, I hate French," he mumbled, reading over Hermione's neat writing again and again. "Knew it the moment I met Fleur with her creepy accent, really. Umm… turtle-a-tutu… er... chay-pew pointy." He glanced hopefully at the ghastly witch.

A mildly stunned look crossed the green face. "What's that, dear?" asked Mrs. Wicked, quirking an eyebrow.

Harry sighed. "Um… ok," he tried again, "turl-a-tutu…shapey…pointeww."

The door remained firmly closed. Harry hung his head. "Ginny, you try."

"I'm afraid it won't help, my boy," condescended the portrait finally. "I'm not to let anyone out after midnight."

Ginny growled. "Listen here, you pompous witch," she snarled, whipping out her wand, "let us out, or I will turn you into a fine batch of confetti and sprinkle you off the Astronomy Tower."

Harry blanched. Never stand between a girl and her food.

The portrait, however, was unperturbed. "I'm magically protected," she stated self-importantly. "I'd like to see you try."

An idea entered Harry's mind. "Listen," he started uncertainly, "you wouldn't happen to be caught up on current events, would you?"

"Why, yes, I take my newspaper every day, like any proper witch."

Harry brightened. "Okay," he grinned, pushing back the hair of his fringe, "you know what this is?"

Mrs. Wicked gasped. "The famous scar! You're that Potter boy!"

Harry winced and nodded, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Now, here's the thing." He tried to look tough and mature. "I like you, Mrs. Wicked, I really do… But, well… I know people. The Minister himself likes to have me over for tea every Sunday. So if my girlfriend here doesn't get what she wants… well, legal measures can be taken against you. I wish it wouldn't have to come to that, but what can I say… it's a cruel world."

The wicked witch paled to a lettuce-green color.

Silently, the door swung open.

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"Let me in! _Please_, somebody let me in!"

A desperate thumping noise was coming from outside the common room door. Harry looked up from his homework and walked over to the portrait, noting that the witch seemed to be dozing. "Is someone there?" he called out.

"Harry, is that you!" came Neville's voice. "Gods, Harry, you've got to let me in! I need to pee so badly!"

Harry sighed. Several weeks had passed since the beginning of the term, and everyone except the ever-forgetful Neville had managed to master the password. "Ok, hold on, Neville," he yelled. "Turlututu chapeau pointu."

Mrs. Wicked's eyes fluttered open. "Oh, well, that wouldn't do, that wouldn't do at all!" she exclaimed. "You can't be letting others into the room, dear boy! What if he's a Death Eater?"

"He's not, he's Neville!" exclaimed Harry. "You know him! Let him in!"

"I can't do that, my boy." The green head shook sorrowfully. "He must say the password."

"Okay. Neville! Oi, Neville!" shouted Harry. "Repeat after me: Turlututu−"

"It's too late," sounded a weak voice. "It's too late." Covering his groin with his schoolbag, a much panicked Neville sprinted down the hallway.

----------------------------------------

"Tonight then?" whispered Blaise, placing a gentle kiss on his boyfriend's lips.

"Tonight," answered Seamus, hugging the lean young man. "Come to my dorm. We'll set silencing charms on the bed, and then I _promise_ I will make you _scream _with pleasure," he purred, biting his lover's ear lightly. "The password is 'turlututu chapeau pointu.'"

Blaise shivered and then chuckled. "Pointy hat, huh? Your portrait has a sense of humor. And I'll hold you to that promise." With another gentle kiss that foretold wonders, and a sly wink, he slinked away into the shadows.

---

"Turlututu chapeau pointu," stated Blaise confidently, looking in a small hand mirror to make sure his hair was impeccable.

Mrs. Wicked opened her eyes, looking obviously startled. "Who are you?" she inquired in a hostile tone.

"I'm here to see Seamus Finnigan," replied Blaise archly.

Silence reigned as Mrs. Wicked looked the boy over with a critical eye. "You aren't a Gryffindor, are you?" questioned the witch finally.

Blaise drew himself up, trying not to feel offended. "Certainly not! I am Slytherin."

Mrs. Wicked nodded her head sorrowfully. "Thought so, thought so," she muttered. "I can't let you in, my boy. No strangers after midnight, I'm afraid."

Blaise growled, stepping closer to the portrait. "Let me through, you old cow," he spat. "I've got a date."

"I can't, my dear. Rules are rules."

Blaise glared, and the witch glared back.

The boy sighed. "Seam?" he called out hopefully. There was no answer.

"Bugger this," he muttered, and stalked away from the room.

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"I've been such a git, 'Mione."

Sounds of gentle kissing echoed through the hallway.

"It's all right, Ron," whispered Hermione, kissing along the boy's jaw. "I knew you'd come around. I've been mean to you, too. Forgive me?"

The redhead held his love close. "Only if you forgive me," he whispered sheepishly.

"Agreed," smiled the girl. "Come on," she drew him toward the common room, "let's go cuddle or something."

Ron smiled when he heard his girlfriend say the password in a perfectly-tailored French accent. _Such a perfectionist, _he thought fondly.

"Oi, Ron!" sounded Harry's voice behind him.

Hermione turned around. "I'll let you guys talk a bit," she said, winking at Ron. "I'll be waiting on your bed," she murmured, placing a light kiss on the boy's neck.

The portrait door swung shut.

Harry's eyes widened. "Nicely done, mate!"

Ron went red. "What'd you want to talk about?" he stuttered.

In the distance, the Hogwarts clocktower chimed six times.

"Oh," Harry grinned, "I just wanted to let you know I'm gonna go practice flying some, before it gets dark."

"Okay," nodded Ron. With a wide grin and a thumbs-up, Harry disappeared down the hallway.

Ron turned to the portrait. "Turlututu chapeau pointu," he managed, feeling decidedly giddy.

The door remained shut. Ron blinked. "Turlututu chapeau pointu" he repeated. "Come on, I know I said it right!"

Mrs. Wicked sighed. "Didn't you hear the chime? It's six o'clock, so the new password's in place now. The memo's been up for days."

"A new password?" stuttered Ron. "No! Don't do this to me. Come on, just let me in."

The wicked witch shook her head. "I'm sorry, my dear, but I can't do that. The rules are clear."

Ron growled, going beet red with anger. "Listen, I was about to get some! You know what that means? There was a good chance that I, _Ron Weasley, _was going to get some! From Hermione! You know how bloody unbelievable that is?" he was shouting now. "Let me in!"

…  
…

"…Bloody hell."

---

"Hermione, I swear−"

"You swear _what_?" shouted the girl. "I know how it went. Darling Harry came to talk to you about Quidditch, and you waltzed off to practice!"

"No, that's not−"

"I don't want to hear it!" growled Hermione. Without another word, she stalked out of the room.

"What's going on?" asked Harry, ducking through the doorway. "I've just got back from practice."

Ron stared blankly into the flames of the fireplace. "What's the new password?" he asked lifelessly.

"Chapeau pointu turlututu," answered Harry bewilderedly. "Why?"

Ron's head hit his desk with a hollow thud. "I swear that portrait's out to ruin my life," he mumbled into the cool wood. "I swear it is."

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"Professor McGonagall…!"

"−I had to pee−"

"…and then the password changed!"

"−she wouldn't let Blaise in!"

"…and she wouldn't let us out after midnight, and I get these _terrible_…"

"She's…"

"She made 'Mione mad at me!"

"…like a Nazi, Professor!"

"She's worse than You-Know-Who!"

"−and I hate the French!"

…

"Er… I mean, I hate French… French as in the language, not the… …I'm an idiot."

…  
…

"…Professor?"

…  
…

"I don't think this jumble of a mess dignifies a response, Miss Weasley."

…  
…

"But…"

…  
…

…  
…

"I guess we'll just go now."

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"Chapeau pointu turlututu," hissed Harry from underneath his Invisibility Cloak. _Darn Ginny and her food cravings,_ he growled to himself. _Now I've got Filch on my tail!_

"What? Who's there!" perked up Mrs. Wicked. It was the middle of the night.

"It's me, Harry Potter," ground out the boy as softly as he could. "Let me in!"

"Show yourself," demanded the wicked witch.

Harry groaned. Filch had rounded the corner and was steadily approaching. "I _can't_," he hissed. "Filch will see me!"

"Oh, well," the green woman waved at the caretaker, "Argus is such a nice man, why ever would you hide from him? Argus, there's a boy here who doesn't like you! Come get this straightened out!"

---

"Two hours of detention," groaned Harry, handing a bowl of strawberries to his girlfriend. "Ah, the things I do for love." He flopped down onto the couch and grinned as Ginny promptly curled up on his chest. He kissed the top of her head. _Oh well, _he thought._ The rewards still outweigh everything else by a ton. _

Hermione sprang up suddenly. "One of my extra Ancient Runes books is missing," she whispered, eyes wide in terror. She gasped, clasping a hand over her mouth. "I must have left it in the classroom! I have a test tomorrow! I have to get it! No one else here would have it!"

She rushed over to the portrait, saying the password hurriedly.

Mrs. Wicked sighed. "It's past midnight, dear. You'll have to do without."

"No, you don't understand!" exclaimed the agitated girl. "I'll fail if I don't get it!"

"That isn't my problem, little girl. Go away."

Hermione growled. "Let. Me. Out," she squeezed through her teeth. "Or you'll pay."

"How many times must I say that rules are rules!" exclaimed the wicked witch.

"Aargh!" Hermione let out a shout. Whipping out her wand, she glared murderously at the wicked woman. "_Parvi Viri Oppugnatis!_"

Mrs. Wicked screeched suddenly as multitudes of Munchkins rushed into her portrait.

Harry watched with his jaw on the floor as the little people flowed over the ghastly woman and pulled her to the ground, dragging her away; all that was left behind was an empty frame. Soon, the witch's screams died away.

Hermione huffed. Putting her wand away, she stalked out of the room.

A minute passed in silence as Ron, Harry, and Ginny contemplated this recent development.

"Well," said Ginny slowly, "I guess the ghastly cow's regime is over."

Finally, Ron and Harry grinned at each other. "Wicked!"


	3. Feline Hell

**Title:** Feline Hell  
**Claim:** Gryffindors  
**Prompt:** Adept, Table#1  
**Rating:** PG  
**Pairings:** Harry/Ginny  
**Summary:** It seems cats are out to make Ginny's life hell... written for **hpfanfic10x10**  
**Warnings:** Ummmm... telepathic projection of thought? not really canon.  
**Word count:** 1300  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing you recognize.  
**RF's note:** All comments appreciated!

**Feline Hell**

"Shut up! Shut up, you vile creature!"

Nostrils flared, and pupils dilated in obvious offended response.

Ginny gulped and stepped back in fright. "Erm… time to change tactics, then," she mumbled, kneeling before the feline demon. "Good Mrs. Norris," she crooned in what she hoped was a soothing voice. "Stop your mewling now, kay? We wouldn't want your darling master Filch to catch me out of bed in the middle of the night, now would we?"

The cat, standing directly in front of the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, let out a hair-raising shriek. Ginny whimpered. "Here," she hurried to whisper, reaching into the bowl of strawberries she clutched in her hands, "would you like a berry, little kitty?"

Unblinking yellow eyes stared at her as the cat continued to hiss and spit.

Ginny clenched her teeth, damning the cat and her own that-time-of-the-month food cravings. Every month, every time she snuck out, it was the exact same scene. It seemed Mrs. Norris had her marked down on her calendar. "Come on, you stupid feline," she ground out, "what will it take to bribe you and shut you up?" It had always seemed to Ginny that every cat-like creature in the world was quite adept at making her life miserable.

Behind her, she could just barely discern Filch's shuffling steps, no doubt following the call of his darling pet.

Ginny sighed, somberly contemplating the large claws on the creature before her. Bracing herself for the scratches to come, she dashed past the feline.

---------

"Haaaaarrrrryyyy, Mrs. Norris scraaaaatched me again," whined Ginny the following morning, standing in front of her boyfriend.

"Oh?" Harry answered distractedly from his seat by the fireplace, where he was rubbing his face intently. Lifting his gaze, he questioned, "Do my eyebrows look thicker than usual?"

Ginny blinked. "Er… they look normal, Harry. Look!" She stretched out her legs in front of her, demonstrating the shallow four-sets of welts running down them, one on each leg.

"Yes, that's positively awful," mumbled Harry. "Are you quite sure?"

"That she scratched me?" Ginny narrowed her eyes.

"No no, about my eyebrows…" Harry trailed off.

Ginny growled, setting a hand on her hip. "Look, _boyfriend_, I'd like some sympathy here…"

"About what?" Harry stared at her with distracted eyes.

"This!" Ginny jabbed a finger in the direction of her legs.

Harry stared down at them. "You're right," he drawled with a snide grin, "they are entirely too sexy. I feel for you. I don't know how you manage!"

Ginny blinked. Looking down, she realized her legs were no longer scratched up, but once again smooth.

"Wha…"

Harry's grin turned mischievous and he hugged Ginny's midsection to himself lovingly. "Come on, baby," he whispered, "I wouldn't let you suffer like that. Healing comes easy to your man."

Ginny shuddered, batting his arms away. "Merlin, don't talk like that," she laughed.

"What? I'm just experimenting with names and such," Harry leered. "But are you quite sure about my eyebrows?"

Ginny sighed. "Yes. What is it about your eyebrows all of a sudden?"

Harry jumped up suddenly. "Well, McGonagall's finally taught me, see!" he exclaimed excitedly. "But I thought when I was changing back, I didn't quite get my face right… My pupils aren't vertical, are they? No matter, no matter… You wanna see?"

Without waiting for a response, Harry started pacing the common room. "Okay, Potter, concentrate," he mumbled, "just like you practiced. Come on." Then, turning on the spot, he launched himself at Ginny.

Ginny grunted with the force of impact as she landed soundly on her behind, with 140 pounds of Potter on top of her. "Harry James Potter!" she shrieked. "What in the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!"

Harry scrambled up. "Oops," he mumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking down embarrassedly. "I thought it would work."

Picking herself off the floor, Ginny growled. "WHAT is _IT_?"

In response, Harry closed his eyes, taking a calming breath. A moment later, he was hurtling towards Ginny again.

The little redhead shrieked, clenching her eyes shut as she felt another impact. Five seconds later, however, she realized she was still upright. Opening her eyes carefully, Ginny realized she was holding a tiny leopard cub with brilliant emerald eyes in her arms.

"H-Harry?" she ventured carefully. The tiny kitten nodded and purred, scratched the scar in the middle of his forehead, and curled up in the witch's arms. A second later, Ginny felt something warm trickle down her torso. 'Oops,' sounded Harry's voice in her head. 'I guess I'm not potty-trained yet.'

---------

Lost in thought, Ginny walked towards her Transfiguration class, Harry-the-cub at her side. Musing as she was on the nature of all felines, running straight into something formidably solid came as a complete surprise.

Ginny stumbled back. "Er… Professor Snape!" she exclaimed. "I…"

"Miss Weasley." Snape's sneer was as cold as ever as he cut her off and stared her down. "I'd appreciate it if you would endeavor to employ what little brains you have in watching where you're going," he spat.

Ginny nodded.

"And…" Snape's mien suddenly faltered. "What on earth is causing that strong urine smell? I certainly hope you haven't been visiting your idiotic brothers' joke shop, Miss Weasley…"

Gasping, Ginny looked down and clasped her hand over her mouth, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. Beside her, the little Harry-cub was sitting in the exact middle of a slowly spreading puddle of yellowish liquid.

"Harry!" Ginny couldn't help but exclaim through her hand.

The kitten gave a pitiful high-pitched mewl, pulling at Ginny's heartstrings. 'He looked scary…' trickled a thought into Ginny's mind.

Unfortunately, the muffling provided by Ginny's hand wasn't enough to block Snape's sharp hearing. He followed Ginny's gaze and blinked. "This," said the man incredulously, "is the Savior of the Wizarding world? A kitten the size of a shoe, and with bladder problems to boot?"

Harry fidgeted. Getting up, he rubbed his feline body along Ginny's leg, seeking some comfort. _Mmmmm, that feels heavenly _he purred to himself.

Ginny sighed as Harry weaved between her legs, tail held high, purring like her father's flying car did on its worst days.

"Harry…Harry, stop it," she ground out.

Harry was having a hard time holding on to human thoughts, and instead felt himself reverting to animalistic nature. Ginny's legs were certainly very nice… and good… mmmmm…

Ginny gasped. "Harry!" she exclaimed. "Harry, you are _not _—You are _not _humping my leg! Don't even dare!... …Harry? Harry, stop it right this minute!"

A bark of laughter escaped Snape's throat unexpectedly. "Do attempt to control your _pet_, Miss Weasley," he drawled. "You are utterly late for class."

---------

Feeling immoderately content, Ginny slumped in an armchair in the Gryffindor common room. It was the middle of the night, and… Yogurt. That was what it had taken to get Mrs. Norris to shut up and grant her safe passage into the dormitories. Finally, she had won the battle against the loony feline.

Purring in greeting, Crookshanks scrambled into Ginny's lap, followed shortly by Harry-the-cub. _'Hey, lover,' _sounded Harry's sleepy voice in her head. '_You won't mind if we sleep here, will you? All the play time has exhausted me… Crookshanks is a monster at hide-and-seek...' _Harry trailed off, and with that said, slumped on top of the already-snoring Crookshanks, and was asleep.

"Er—Harry?" Ginny prodded him with a finger. She fidgeted. "Harry, I've got to pee." The sleeping creature smacked his lips sleepily and only snuggled closer.

With a deep sigh, Ginny realized that she would not deny the little cub the pleasure of sleeping in her lap. Shaking her head sorrowfully, she clenched her thigh muscles and settled down to battle the urge to pee as long as possible.

_Yes, _she thought with a wry smile as she pulled out a book. _Little cute cats are quite adept at making my life hell. _


	4. Beauty

**Title:** Beauty  
**Rating:** PG  
**Pairings:** Ron/Lavender, future Ron/Hermione implied, Bill/Fleur mentioned  
**Summary:** Hermione will do anything to get Ron..., written for **hpfanfic10x10**  
**Warnings:** AU, post-war, character death, somewhat angsty  
**Word count:** about 550  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing you recognize.  
**RF's note:** All comments appreciated!

**Beauty**

It was the last week of classes before the final exams.

The door to the Potions classroom slammed open as Snape strode in, robes billowing as ever.

"Beauty," he started without preamble, glaring at his seventh year Slytherin-Gryffindor class, "is, as we know, entirely in the eyes of the beholder."

He tapped the blackboard with his wand. "The potion you are making today, if activated, will make whoever drinks it think you are the most beautiful creature on earth. For no more and no less than a week." His glare intensified. "Far be it from me to understand why such a substance made it to the N.E.W.T. curriculum and the antidote did not, for I shudder to think that its effects might help some of you brainless morons…" His eyes searched the crowd before him. "…procreate. Nevertheless, you have fifty minutes. Begin."

In the back of the room, Hermione worked quickly and efficiently, though her heart was heavy. Her eyes filled with tears as she snuck a look at Ron. There was a maturity now to Ron's posture. The war had not been easy on him, and losing his mother had quickly forced him to grow up. A scar ran down his left cheek, a reminder of the dangers he'd faced.

They were not as close as they had been during their first years at Hogwarts. They were drifting apart.

And Harry was dead, killed in his final mission. He defeated Voldemort, but in the process was lost. The cement holding Hermione and Ron together was no longer there.

She watched as Ron leaned over and kissed Lavender gently. After the initial excitement of teenage hormones had worn off, they had made steadfast companions through the dark times of the war. And during Harry's funeral, Fleur had held Bill, and Lavender had held Ron. They were engaged to be married.

Hermione realized hot tears were now streaming down her face. She leaned over her cauldron, wondering where exactly her life had gone so horribly wrong. She counted as ten droplets of tears fell from her chin and into the shimmering substance. She watched as the potion turned clear. It had been activated.

Clamping down on the ever-growing sorrow she felt, she filled a vial with the clear substance. It held no smell and no texture, and was, all in all, indistinguishable from water. She transfigured the vial into a small bottle, only large enough for one gulp.

Harry had always said she and Ron were meant for each other, she remembered suddenly. He had always said Ron would come around. He'd been wrong.

Wiping her tears, Hermione straightened out. "I'm finished, Professor," she called.

Snape strode over, took a glance at her cauldron. "Good work, Miss Granger," he acknowledged grudgingly. After the war's end, there was no need for him to play the excessively Slytherin bastard, and only his naturally snarky nature remained. "You may leave."

As Snape turned away, Hermione surreptitiously sent a nonverbal spell toward Ron. The redhead looked up. "Merlin, I'm so thirsty! Does anyone have any water?"

Clenching her jaw, Hermione thrust the bottle into Ron's hand, and stalked out of the room.

She would lose him forever after the potion wore off, she knew.

But without it, she would never get to have him at all.


	5. Avada Kedavra

**Title:** Avada Kedavra  
**Prompt:** Corruption  
**Rating:** PG-13, for dark imagery  
**Pairings:** Harry/Ginny  
**Summary:** Harry reflects on the war and the loss of loved ones, as he attends the trial of one he once called a friend. written for **hpfanfic10x10**  
**Warnings:** Post-war, multiple character death, damaged!Harry, traitor!Gryffindor  
**Word count:** about 1550  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing you recognize.  
**RF's note:** All comments appreciated!

Harry Potter, Slayer of Voldemort, Savior of the Wizarding World, stood, naked from the waist up, before a mirror in his bedroom.

It was an hour before dawn.

Harry ran a careless hand through his unruly locks, and leaned his elbows on the tall shelf sitting in front of the mirror.

The mirror tutted. "Surely, Mr. Potter, you mean to use a comb on that," it murmured.

"Shhh," Harry whispered, sending a glance toward his sleeping fiancée, "you'll wake her up."

He could almost imagine the mirror shaking its head sorrowfully. "She's not asleep, the poor dear," it whispered. "Such a terrible ordeal it's been, the poor girl must be exhausted…"

Harry sighed. The mirror, a birthday present from Minerva McGonagall, was as talkative as the stern professor was not.

A small voice riddled with anguish sounded from the bed. "Harry?"

Quickly, the man who lived came to kneel, with some difficulty, before his love. "Hey, Gin," he whispered. "How you doing?"

"Can't sleep right," she mouthed. "D-dreams," she stuttered, and Harry saw that her pillow was soaked with tears.

His heart clenched painfully as he kissed her forehead gently. "You sure you don't want to come today?" he asked.

A gleam of pain went through the redhead's eyes. "I'm sure," she whispered, curling into a fetal position among the covers. A single tear escaped her eye and joined its comrades on the pillow. "I have nothing more to say to the bastard."

Harry nodded.

A single tiny hand emerged and Ginny grasped his forearm tightly. "Will you hold me?" she pleaded. "Will you help me fall asleep?"

Wordlessly, Harry climbed onto the bed, spooning behind his love. His hand went to her forehead and he hummed softly, sending soothing magical vibes into her pained soul. Ginny sighed, slowly relaxing into her protector. Silence fell, as Harry simply held her close.

He watched as the shadows in the room slowly lost their depth. Dawn would be breaking soon. Frowning, Harry put a finger on his fiancée's temple, softly speaking an enchantment. She would sleep until the day was over, no matter what went on around her. There was no point in needlessly torturing her.

He relinquished his hold on his love, and got out of bed. Ginny only mumbled something and pulled the covers up closer to her ears, and Harry noticed that her pillow had dried. With a sigh, he pressed a kiss to her messy red locks. "I love you, Gin," he whispered. _Don't you ever forget that_.

Turning away, Harry limped toward the mirror again. What would be the attire appropriate for this occasion? What would express the quiet dignity, the heartfelt sorrow, and the soul-deep rage he had so often felt over the past two years?

He stared at himself contemplatively. Long gone were the times in which his eyes held that boyish innocence, that Gryffindor(though he loathed using the word) foolishness that had so perfectly defined his early years.

He chuckled humorlessly. Indeed, his right eye now held nothing at all. Lifeless and colorless, it was one of the reminders he had of the final battle.

There was one good thing to this. He smirked. Since his right eye had been the weak eye in the first place, he no longer had a need for glasses. And without them, as _Witch Weekly_ had rushed to assert, his eyes, though no longer both so blatantly emerald, were still striking – striking with their quiet wisdom, dignity, and silent sorrow about the ways of the world.

Gone were the days of things infallible.

Gone were the times when he had so foolishly believed that Gryffindor values – nobility, bravery, morality, honor – were undermined by nothing.

Long vanished were the times when he thought friendships, true Gryffindor friendships, were unbreakable.

Jealousy, he had learned, was a force to be reckoned with.

Jealousy, he had discovered, could corrupt anyone. The thirst for power it prompted was simply unquenchable.

Light was now streaming into the room, as the sun rose above Hogwarts grounds. It was time to move quicker.

Harry limped towards the closet. Suddenly, he tripped, and his left leg gave out, and he crumbled to the floor, howling in rage at his crippled, useless limb. It was another relic of the war. Wordlessly, he summoned his cane. A faint bitter-sweet feeling went through him as he remembered the many times he'd stumbled in the past and was held up by Malfoy junior.

Indeed, during the final years of the war, lasting a year past Harry's graduation, it was the Slytherins who were his most ardent aides. Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy, even Crabbe and Goyle, Parkinson and Zabini – all had converted to his side and stood steadfastly by him, face to face with the bastard of a snake and his minions.

Slytherin loyalty, it seemed, was more durable than Gryffindor honor.

Because, for the second time in Potter history, Gryffindor house had borne a traitor.

Dressing quickly now, Harry cast a final glance at his fiancée, and left their quarters.

Snape and Malfoy were waiting for him. There was no need to speak. Mutely, Draco took his left side, and Severus his right as they exited Hogwarts castle. Harry watched as, with ease of long practice, Severus' eyes scoured the road ahead for possible traps, while Draco, wand in his left hand, had his right ready to push their Savior behind him should danger materialize ahead. Harry knew that somewhere behind him Zabini was walking, invisible, keeping their backs covered. Even six months after the war's end, attacks were still very, _very_ possible.

They left Hogwarts grounds. The walk to the Apparition point in Hogsmeade was long and trying for his leg, but Harry would never let anyone help him along. They made the painstakingly slow journey in patient silence; the Slytherins were long accustomed to Harry's limp. Harry once again fell into his musings.

In retrospect, Harry felt he should have known.

Should have paid heed to the red gleams of hatred he'd seen in the young man's eyes during the Triwizard Tournament.

Should have noted the rage he'd felt directed toward him when he, Harry Potter, had reached his majority and had been declared the most powerful wizard in the world.

He should have understood the slow change in appearance, the hollowed out look of jealousy and hatred which he had before seen in young Tom Riddle himself.

But, he had not, and now−

Harry winced as he relived the memory once more, heard the traitor's fervent hiss, and Harry's own panicked shout.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

"_Expelliarmus et Immobulus!"_

_Hermione Granger's body crumbled lifelessly, and Ginny stared in horror at the scene, and at the man disarmed and bound only a second too late. _

Harry's heart clenched painfully as he remembered Neville, rushing into the common room.

"_Harry! Ron! Ginny! Dumbledore's asked me to send word… The Burrow, it's been attacked. Someone let the Death Eaters in through the wards. I… I'm so sorry…T-they were all there…"_

Harry stumbled, and was grateful for Draco's steadying hand. "We're almost there," murmured the blonde. "Hang on."

Harry nodded shakily. Soon they were past the wards, and they Apparated out.

-----------------------------------

Two years had passed since Hogwarts had lost its most brilliant student, and the wizarding world had said farewell to its most-loved family. And finally, today, was the trial for their murders.

Harry sat on the witness bench in the Wizengamot courtroom as the trial unfolded blurrily before his eye. He made conscious effort not to look at the man chained in the middle of the room, knowing he'd be sick if he did.

And then it was done.

"For the murder of Hermione Granger," sounded the minister's voice, "and for crucial assistance in the murders of Arthur, Molly, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, and George Weasley," the minister paused significantly, "Ronald Weasley is found guilty, and sentenced to death. As the dementors no longer serve us, an Auror of my choice will perform the Killing Curse, immediately."

Silence hung heavily in the air of the courtroom. Then--

"Let me do it," whispered Harry.

"Let me do it," he repeated louder as he rose heavily from his seat. "I am your most tried and hardened Auror, Minister," he called out, straightening proudly. "One more kill will do nothing to my soul."

The minister paled, but nodded uncertainly, knowing he could not, would not argue. "Mr. Harry James Potter, Order of Merlin First Class," he announced, "will perform the Killing Curse."

A collective gasp traveled through the room as Harry stepped down onto the floor of the courtroom. He shook his head jerkily when Draco Malfoy made to follow. "I'll be all right," he whispered, and the blonde sat back.

With measured steps, he approached the seat to which the traitor was bound. Ron's face was twisted with rage and fear. "Harry!" he stuttered. "Harry, it's just me! We're mates, aren't we? Weren't we?"

Harry nodded slowly. "Yes," he whispered. Out of the depths of his mind, a forgotten saying came to him, one he would have once, with no hesitation, called the Gryffindor slogan. He fixed his eye on the pale face of the one he had once called a friend, and raised his wand. Ron squirmed under his gaze. "Yes," Harry murmured again. "_But let justice run down as waters, and righteousness as a mighty stream."_

"Avada Kedavra," he whispered, and the squirming was no more.


End file.
